He may never return to his old Homeplace again <br />And hear the birds sing in the wind and the rain <br />When the cool winds of Spring through the high country blow <br />And the hawthorns are dressed in their blooms white as snow. <br /> <br />But he climbs on the mountain when he visualize <br />And the little brown lark from the heather does rise <br />And singing with passion upwards he does fly <br />Till he disappears in the clouds of the sky. <br /> <br />A migrant in this Land he always may be <br />But in his flights of fancy he regularly see <br />The ditches and fields in their flowers of the Spring <br />When the nesting songbirds do whistle and sing. <br /> <br />In some people's lives destiny has the say <br />The lust of the wander it lured him away <br />From the places and people he loved years ago <br />Back there now perhaps not many he would know. <br /> <br />Fond memories of his old Homeplace he retain <br />He hears the stormwater gurgling in the roadside drain <br />And in His flights of fancy he can hear the rill <br />With the babbling tongue in the field by the hill.<br /><br />Francis Duggan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/he-may-never-return/
